The Old Jamaican Poem by PAUL COLVIN

You hear him first, the cursing, swearing
And you want to laugh at what he’s wearing
But the voice that bellows takes pride of place
As glaring eyes stare in your face.
His tight clenched fists and kicking feet
And a vile tongue for those who meet
The man who turns the air so blue
It’s thick and fast and aimed at you!
Shocked, you’ll turn to meet his glare
Then swiftly turn to avoid his stare
He wildly swings his walking stick,
At passers-by he’ll aim a kick
They swerve and jump out of his way
From the old man with the hair so grey
He stands his ground then rants and raves
Condemning all to early graves
Still screaming out his wild commands
With kicking feet and flailing hands
An old coat hangs upon his frame
But the cursing words are not so lame
His vile manner full of hate
And everyone he’ll aggravate
No-one is spared from his contempt
All get blasted – none exempt
But he’s harmless so just let him rant
The old Jamaican immigrant.